


Aftermath

by Talithax



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to Inlovewithboth's 'Gamekeeper'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inlovewithboth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inlovewithboth/gifts).



> Narrated by Chris & self-beta'd.
> 
> Follows on from 'Gamekeeper' and was written solely as a gift for Inlovewithboth...
> 
> A few SG-1 elements are mentioned, but I wouldn't really call it a cross-over.

=========  
Aftermath  
by TalithaX  
=========

 

Why?

I...

I just don't get it.

I... can't... get it.

I mean, I know I'm only repeating myself here, but... Why? Why would he think that was a... perfectly reasonable sort of thing to do? I've met some pretty sick and twisted, not to mention extremely sadistic assholes in my time, but...

That mother fucker. Seriously. He was in a league of his own. He truly was.

Three days on and I'm still...

… Struggling.

… Lost.

… Slowly dying inside.

It...

It's like it's happening all over again. The obliterating, suffocating, and relentless sense of...

… Grief.

… Loss.

… Failure.

Couldn't save them. Couldn't do anything.

Could only stand there and...

… Watch.

… Listen.

… Freeze.

I could see the bullets, and the blood, and the expressions of shock and panic on everyone's faces. The faces of people that meant so much to me and who I'd been through so much with. People I loved. People I took for granted and very, very much needed. 

And the noise. The hideous, familiar sound of a semi-automatic rifle emptying its rounds. The shrill screams of terror and panic being torn from the same throats that only a few short moments ago had been murmuring their congratulations. The gasping, wheezing death rattle of those who lay dying.

And...

There was nothing I could do.

Not a single solitary fucking thing.

I was a Navy SEAL for Christ's sake. A highly decorated one, at that. Over the course of my career I'd put my life on the line over and over again and done my country proud with my actions.

Yet...

I just stood there.

As those I loved died around me.

They died on what was meant to have been the happiest day of my life. My parents, my wife of only a few, incredibly short hours, my friends and colleagues. They lost their lives in front of my eyes while...

… I didn't receive so much as a flesh wound.

The firing was indiscriminate. I had to have been in the line of fire at some point, yet, for some unknown reason, I escaped the day physically unscathed. Not so much as a scratch marred my skin, and...

I don't know why.

Why didn't I die that day as well?

God knows – not, however, it just has to be said that I was feeling a great deal of faith towards him at that particular point – I wished that I had. My life, as far as I was concerned, was over anyway, so why couldn't I too be in the ground with everyone that I loved? It would, after all, certainly have been kinder than the living hell what followed.

The never ending stream of questions and interviews when all I wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and – shut down – hibernate. N.C.I.S.. Local authorities. Psychiatrists. Well meaning friends and family. The priest who ignored the black cloud of despair hovering over my head and the expletive laden diatribe I hit him with every time he dared to come near me and who just wouldn't give up and leave well enough alone.

It all just went on and on.

'Can you think of any reason as to why your wedding was targeted?'

'We need a list of everyone you can think of that may have held a grudge against either you or anyone at the wedding party.'

'Are you sure you didn't see anything suspicious?'

'Hang in there. Things will get better, you'll see.'

'It's called survivor's guilt and what you're going through is perfectly understandable.'

'Teresa wouldn't want you to give up like this. She'd want you to both fight and move on.'

'Their souls are at peace with Our Father now.'

They all came and talked... at... me, and...

Nothing helped.

Not the tears.

Certainly not the discovery that the gunman was simply some random lunatic with an alcohol fuelled grudge against the Navy for having knocked back his son's entry application and that – wrong place, wrong time – it wasn't personal all.

Not the softly spoken and well intentioned platitudes.

Not the funerals. The multiple, dreadful funerals where, pale and dead-eyed, I always had to take pride of place at the front of the church.

The massacre itself was over in seconds.

Seconds.

That's all it took to both take so many lives and throw mine so completely off course.

The aftermath though, that...

That's just without end. To this very day, I'm still living it.

Whatever happens. Regardless of how long I live or what I end up achieving with my life, it will always be with me.

Always.

The sense of loss. The gut-wrenching knowledge that I can't just pick up the phone and talk to my parents. The fact that my childhood sweetheart, the only woman I've ever truly loved and would have given up everything for, was cruelly taken far, far too soon. The lingering question mark as to why I too wasn't taken.

The nightmares.

The pointless fucking nightmares that have a habit of replaying the day in picture perfect clarity in my sleep. Hell. I'm so fucked up that my subconscious doesn't even have to get creative and can just go with constantly re-screening the worst day of my life. Nothing ever even changes. I dream it exactly as it took place. The beautiful weather, Teresa's infectious happiness, the look of pride in my parents' eyes...

… The bullets, the blood, the screaming.

The fact that I'm still here.

For months, as I allowed myself to fall head first into the comforting arms of depression, I wished that I'd died too. I even, not that I have any intention of ever mentioning this to anyone, spent many an hour contemplating ways of taking my own life.

If I couldn't save those I loved, what good was I to anyone?

Fully trained, best of the best, a credit to my nation, and...

Fucking useless.

Good for no one, and good for nothing.

I wallowed as much in self-pity as I did self-contempt.

Each and every day was a struggle. I didn't want to get out of bed, let alone face people, and if it hadn't been for my uncle calling in a favour and convincing – if not... begging – Malone to offer me a job at CI5, I...

I would have given up.

I just would have.

I'd lost everything that meant anything to me, and I...

… I just couldn't go on.

Not on my own, and not in the world I'd always called my own.

The States held too many memories for me, the Navy was no longer the haven I'd always considered it to be, and...

A fresh start.

What I needed, even more than the prescriptions of mood stabilisers and kind offers of shoulders to cry on, was a brand new beginning.

I may not have been entirely sure that I deserved it, or that I was even capable of... making a go of it... but, I needed it, and...

I took it.

I accepted Malone's offer to pack up what was left of my miserable excuse for a life and to move to both London and CI5 and, somehow, I made it. I pulled myself together, pushed through the grief, threw myself into my new role, and...

I made it.

I made a new career for myself, and I made friends, and I even started to... dare to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could bring myself to love again.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been, but...

… I was happy.

The grief was still there, of course it was, as too were the nightmares, but I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and I felt both useful and a part, an important part, even, of something. Something worthwhile and which, in my own way, I was able to bring something to.

I also, in the form of partner, had the best friend I'd ever been fortunate enough to have. Sam hadn't wanted a partner, and he certainly hadn't wanted one that was as much of a basket case as I was, but he accepted me, never made me feel as though he was only humouring me because Malone had decreed it or because his overly-polite British nature wouldn't allow him to share what he really thought of me, and, quickly, before either of us had even been aware that it was happening, became my friend.

He saw through my faults, accepted that, as I appeared to be good at what I did, he could trust me to have his back, and... That was just that. Sam hadn't wanted a partner, let alone a friend, and I'd been wanting to keep him at arm's length because I'd decided it was simply safer for all if I never allowed myself to get close to anyone ever again, yet...

We made a good team, both during working hours and in our down time.

I knew that I could rely on Sam to be there for me if I needed him, just as he knew I'd always be there for him.

Again, I was happy. I'm not saying there wasn't a little bit of... longing... occasionally going on in terms of wanting what I knew, for many varying reasons, I couldn't have, but all in all life was simply... good. Far better than, after the massacre, I'd ever expected it to be, and definitely worth living.

I just...

Why?

I know I'm not as intelligent as Sam or Daniel are, but, for the life of me I simply don't get it.

That Keeper bastard, what did he truly hope to achieve by making me relive my wedding over and over again?

Was it just his own unique way of getting his rocks off?

Was he trying to show me that... however hard I try, I'll always fail?

Yes. I wish that I could have done things differently that day. Of course I fucking do. If I could have given my life for those I loved I would have done so in a heartbeat. If there was... anything... I could have done I'd have done so both willingly and with no consideration to my own safety.

Did he not think I hadn't wasted copious hours going over the various scenarios in my head and trying to work out what I could have done differently myself? Did he think he was being... particularly unique or creative in his replays?

Just...

What did he want me to do?

What did he... expect... from me?

Useless.

Couldn't do anything then, and couldn't change anything in the Keeper's sadistic Artificial Reality either.

He...

He killed Sam.

Like my wife before him, he killed Sam in front of my eyes and I...

I couldn't do anything.

My partner, the person who means the most to me in this entire fucked up world, was shot down in front of me and there was nothing I could do.

It...

It wasn't real, and thanks to Daniel's quick thinking we were eventually able to break free of the Keeper's twisted... game, but...

The damage, it was already done.

If he wanted to reduce me to the – waste-of-space – mess I was after the wedding, he succeeded.

I know it wasn't real, that none of it was real and that Sam's still alive, but it doesn't matter.

I saw Sam die and there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

And the response this has installed in me is real. Very real, even.

It's like the aftermath of the wedding all over again. I just want to shut myself off and... shut down. It...

It's just better for everyone this way.

I...

I'm a liability.

The Keeper, no doubt because he saw me as the weakest link, chose my nightmarish memories to place everyone in, and...

It's all just my fault.

All of it.

When the liaison role with Stargate Command came up I was the one who convinced Sam we were the team for the job. He hadn't been particularly enthused at the prospect of going off world but, not wanting to take no for an answer, I wore him down until he reluctantly agreed. He... only accepted the role because of my desire for excitement and it goes without saying that I wish now that I'd never opened my stupid mouth.

My choice.

My memories.

My fault.

When all is said and done, really it's only fair that I'm the one paying for the error of my stupid ways.

Depressed. Trapped.

Helpless.

I think of Sam being taken from me and I...

… I can't go on.

What if the Keeper's true role was to show me a portal in to the future? Maybe he knows that Sam's destined to die in front of me, and...

Again. I can't go on.

Three days have passed since, lost in our own thoughts and silent, we staggered back through the Stargate and, once the hideous yet necessary debrief was out of the way, were placed on the first plane back to London. Although I was too shell shocked to either question if he knew what he was doing or to take any pleasure out of it, I know that Sam held my hand throughout the duration of the flight and that, wanting to make sure that I was okay, he tried to come back to my apartment with me. He...

He tried to insist, but, already shutting down, I wasn't having any of it and insisted that he just take a cab straight to his place, that... I was both fine and didn't need him.

I was dismissive and rude to him because...

… I had to be.

For his own sake, I had to do what I could to distance myself from him. I didn't want to. Of course I didn't. If anything I wanted to hurl myself into his strong arms and to just lose myself in his reassuring embrace as though my very life depended on it. Sam, he...

He really is everything to me and I love him in a way I thought I'd never be capable of loving anyone ever again. Not only does he possess an unerring ability to make me smile, but he's always been there for me and I know that I owe him more than I'll ever truly be able to let on.

Not, however, that any of it matters now.

Thanks to the Keeper opening my eyes to my continued uselessness, I have to let him go and just... move on.

Somehow.

Somehow I have to turn my back on both Sam and CI5 and just once again start afresh.

Only...

… I don't know how. Or even where to start.

I failed those I loved at the wedding, the Keeper seemed to imply that I'm destined to fail Sam as well, so...

Maybe I shouldn't even bother?

Perhaps this time I really should just give up for good.

I mean, let's face it, it's not as though I'm not currently giving it my best shot. 

My phone's unplugged, I've removed the battery from my mobile, my apartment may as well only consist of my bedroom, en suite and kitchen for all the use I've made of it since returning home and taking to bed, and...

I'm sinking.

Just like before, I can't fight the overwhelming sense of despair that's settled over me and I'm shutting myself away.

No appetite. No inclination to get out of bed, let alone shower or take care of myself. No energy to push through the apathy and try to make an effort.

To the Keeper it was all just a game.

To me though, it's my life.

Not a game.

My life.

Or at the very least what's left of it at any rate.

“Dear God, Chris.” The sound of an achingly familiar voice ringing out through the silence in my apartment and shocking me back in to the realm of reality, I open my eyes and blink up at the darkened ceiling. “I know that you're a pig, but, seriously, even pigs need to let a little natural light in every now and again!”

Sam?

Here?

No.

Surely not. I know that he's got his own set of keys and that I've always made a point of telling him that he's welcome here whenever he likes, but...

No.

He just can't be here.

Seeing as things can't possibly be bad enough already, just... I don't know. Why not let a few random, wishful thinking hallucinations into the fucked up mix as well?

Travelling through the Gate, especially for people like Sam and myself who don't do it all that often, coming with it's own debilitating form of – for the want of a better way of putting it – jet-lag, we've always been given four days off to recover, so...

There's no reason for him to be here.

No reason at all.

I haven't been expected in the office. Malone can't have sent him to check up on me, and...

“Chris? Are you even in here? Although it went against my very fibre, my... every... fibre, even, I picked up a couple of pizzas on the way over and thought you might like to watch the game with me.”

A noise not unlike what a groan combined with a strangled gasp might sound like slipping past my lips, I start to pull the duvet over my head when, to my instant horror, my bedroom light is switched on and Sam materialises in the doorway.

“Shit, Chris. Seeing as you look like something a not overly discerning cat dragged in, I take back my pig comment,” he murmurs just a touch blandly as, like the proverbial bunny in the spotlight, I gaze back at him both wide-eyed and opened mouthed.

He's here.

He's really here.

And...

… I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Chris?” Frowning, Sam steps into the bedroom and, as I sit up and push myself back against the wall, gives me an openly concerned look. “Hey... What's the matter? I tried calling but couldn't get through...”

“I...” Shaking my head numbly, I hug my knees to my chest and, for fear of meeting his gaze, stare down at the foot of the bed. “I'm fine.”

“Mmm... You're fine and Malone's a closet Spice Girls fan,” he retorts flatly as, never being one to back down in the face of adversity, he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and places his hand lightly on my knee. “Come on, Chris, what's the matter, huh? Are you unwell? I know Gate travel takes it out of you, but you're not usually...”

“I'm fine,” I repeat, cutting Sam off as I gesture wearily towards the door in the hope that he'll get the hint to just up and leave.

“Bullshit you're fine. Just...” Sighing, Sam takes matters into his own hands by reaching out and gently cupping my cheek in his palm. “Look at me, Chris,” he continues, applying just enough pressure to ensure I shift my head around to look at him. “That stupid game the Keeper played with us, you're not to let that get...”

“It... It was my life!” I interrupt, jerking my head back and shuffling further away from Sam. “Not... Not some game or virtual reality. He took my memories, and he placed you and the others in them, and... And there was nothing I could do!” Whimpering, I close my eyes and rest my forehead on my knees. “Nothing,” I add in a defeated sounding whisper. “There wasn't anything I could do. I couldn't change the outcome, I couldn't get him out of my head, I... I couldn't save you. You... You died in front of me, Sam, and... there wasn't anything I could do! I... I failed you. I... failed everyone...”

“Hey... Shhh... You didn't fail anyone,” Sam murmurs as he shifts closer to me and rests his hand on my slumped shoulder. “Come on. You can't let that bastard get to you. The wedding, it... God knows I wish that it hadn't, but... It happened. You were there, Chris, and, you're right, there wasn't a single thing you could have done. I know that doesn't stop you from beating yourself up over it, or from going over every single different scenario in your head and playing the 'what if' game, but... Listen to me. You weren't to blame. You weren't to blame for what happened then any more than you're to blame for what the Keeper put us through on that Godforsaken planet.”

“He... He was in... my... head,” I whisper, opening my eyes and risking a fleeting glance at Sam. “He took... my... memories... and made everyone else a part of them.”

“You heard him though. He'd clearly taken a tour through all of our heads, so...”

“Berlin...” Groaning, I shake my head again. Sam doesn't really talk much about his time at MI6, so for the Keeper to have mentioned him nearly meeting his death in Berlin it... It must have been bad. “Sam, I...”

“He was wrong, you know,” Sam interjects almost conversationally as, it being his turn to look away, he drops his gaze down to his knees. “Mr Omniscient Keeper, he was wrong about Berlin being my worst memory, or... the moment in time I'd least like to revisit.”

“But...” Caught by the cryptic nature of Sam's response, I loosen my arms around my knees and make myself a little more comfortable as I look at him expectantly. “The Keeper, he said you almost died there...”

“I did,” Sam replies with a casual shrug. “If the extraction had been only a couple of minutes later I probably would have, too.”

“Oh...” Firmly pushing this new, unwelcome titbit of information out of my head, I sigh and mirror Sam's shrug. “But, I... I don't understand. The Keeper seemed to posses the ability to take the worst moments of our lives and...”

“Africa,” Sam interrupts in a quiet voice as he gazes down at his hands as they rest flat on his knees. “The worst moment of my life was in Africa...”

“The... plane crash?”

“Not... the crash itself, no.”

“Oh...” Not liking how weary, if not... pained, Sam is suddenly looking, I shake off some of my own self-centred behaviour and, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, settle myself next to him. “Sam? Didn't you think we were going to make it through the desert?”

“I...” Sighing heavily, he turns to face me and, from somewhere, dredges up a grim smile. “I didn't think... you... were going to make it,” he confesses softly. “From that dreadful moment when I first came around the wreckage of the plane and just saw you... lying there, all... All I could think about was doing whatever it took to get you through, and...” Trailing off, he returns his gaze to directly in front of him. “That... That was the worst moment of my life. Worrying about whether you'd make it or not and... what I'd do if I no longer had you in my life...”

“Oh...” 

Did...

… He really just say what I thought I heard?

“It's okay, Chris,” Sam murmurs in a clearly dejected tone as he slowly gets to his feet and starts to move over towards the door. “How I happen to feel about you is... my problem, not yours. I only mentioned it in the hope of proving to you that the Keeper wasn't as smart as he thought he was, or as... knowledgeable. That, and... uh... that he could be... wrong about things.”

“I...” Jumping to my feet, which given my inactivity of the past few days isn't the greatest idea I've ever had and which momentarily causes the room to spin lazily around me, I stagger over to Sam and, solely in order to remain upright, grab a tight hold of his arm. “I saw you die!” I exclaim breathlessly as, frowning, he guides me back over to the bed and helps me down on to it. “You... died in front of me, and... And all I can think about is... What if it becomes a reality? What if that Keeper prick is actually some sort of seer? I...” Pausing, I blink back the tears that are suddenly welling my eyes and shake my head. “I can't fail you, Sam. You... You mean too much to me to... to fall prey to my ineptitude!”

“Your... ineptitude?” Sam echoes with what sounds, to my ears at least, like a snort of bemusement. “God, Chris. You're not inept. In fact, at the risk of it going straight to your head, you're one of the very few people in this world that I actually admire.”

“Admire?” I mutter dismissively. “Uh... Sorry, Sam, but you've got rocks in your head if you think...”

“Your skills are second to none and you're a fighter,” Sam continues, calmly talking over the top of me as he takes a seat on the mattress and flashes me a smile that's as reassuring as it is truly beautiful. “The things you've been through, Chris, they'd destroy a lesser man. Hell, I'm not even entirely sure they wouldn't knock me for six, if... not down for the count, but... You're still here, and you're still fighting. I know things aren't easy for you, and that some days are more of a struggle than others, but you're still here and, I for one, am incredibly glad of it. So... Just... Fuck the Keeper, yeah?”

Sniffing, I shift closer to Sam and, as his arm seems to instinctively settle over my shoulders, nod. “He... fucked with my head,” I confess, leaning against Sam and curling my hand around his thigh. “He made the wedding and its aftermath a... reality... again and, to borrow your cricket analogy, the one I don't even really understand, it... it's just knocked me for six. You... You're half of the reason I've made it as far as I have and, seeing you die, it made me question...”

“Don't,” Sam interrupts firmly as, to my decided delight, he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Don't question anything and don't let the Keeper have any hold over your life. Just... What will be, will be. You could have died in Africa, just as I could have died on that island, and, while I don't know about you, I'm sick of living my life as though I'm in some sort of holding pattern. Life's too short to be held back by fears or doubt and... Hey. Look at it this way... We'll never know if we never give it a go.”

“But...” Reading between the lines here and coming to the glorious conclusion that somehow, don't ask me how, we've effortlessly ended up on the same page, I glance up at Sam and frown. “What about Malone's all important Rule Number One?”

“Speaking for myself here, Malone's all important Rule Number One went out the window around the same time that you blithely planted your, very fine, I might add, arse on the car seat that promptly activated the bomb that had been hidden beneath it,” Sam replies with both a grin and an unbothered shrug. “So, you know, I have to say I'm good with ignoring it if you are...”

“I...” Returning Sam's grin, I nod and, because I really do feel a hell of a lot better than I did only a few short minutes ago, sneak in a quick kiss on his smooth cheek. “I can't say I ever particularly agreed with it, anyway,” I murmur. “Now... All in the name of both honesty and wanting to start things off on the right foot, I... I don't think I want to go through the Gate again. Let's face it, life's hard enough right here on earth without adding running in to random nut jobs out there in the stars in to the mix...”

“Seeing as I've already asked Malone to pull our liaison role, consider it done,” Sam responds, tightening his arm around my shoulders and pulling me even closer. “I know it might have been a little... overbearing... of me, but I... I just don't want either of us to ever be placed in a situation that has that sort of effect on you again. Chris, you... you just mean too much to me that I... I never want to see you suffering like that again.”

Not really knowing how to reply without coming across as all emotional, I reluctantly free myself from Sam's arm and, standing up, hold my hand out towards him. “Did I hear you mention something about pizza earlier?” I query, taking Sam's hand in mine and helping him up.

“You did,” Sam retorts, giving me a look that's far more amused than it is disgusted. “Despite having to disguise myself with both dark glasses and a baseball cap, I braved a pizza shop for you because, having had enough of your silence, I thought you probably needed cheering up.”

“My hero.” Pulling Sam towards me, I wrap my arms around him and, as his arms slide around my waist, just hug him tight. “Sam, I... I don't know what to say other than both... onwards and upwards, and... Thank you... Just... Thank you.”

… Thank you for your honesty, for both applying logic where I couldn't and for just, in your own way and in your own unobtrusive time, being there when I needed you.

Thank you, in other words, for simply being you.

Keeper? If you've somehow got the ability to be still watching over me?

While you gave it your best shot, and I'll admit it certainly wasn't looking this way only a few short minutes ago, you lose.

I may not be as strong as Sam thinks I am, but with him both by my side and so firmly in my camp, nor am I ever going to give up.

So, again...

Of the two of us, I'm not the loser.

You are.

~ end ~


End file.
